I’ve never been anyone’s favorite. I was never daddy’s little girl, I was never his kid. This past weekend my father said some hurtful things. But when he says those words, it’s not him speaking, it’s the alcohol. I learned at a young age not to take his words to heart. He didn’t mean it, he doesn’t know what he’s saying. I wish I knew what he was like before the drinking. I wish I knew him before his breathing became labored, and his face was red from the drug.

People say “adopted children are lucky.” No, truly we are not. I have not had an easy life, that is for sure. For the past 14 years I’ve been trying to make my parents proud and have been failing greatly. All I want is a pat on the back, a job well done. I just want to be loved. Is it that hard?

The head softball coach for JV quit Monday. The assistant is now our only coach. He’s chosen his favorite, and it’s not him. I’m trying so hard to get liked, to be… noticed. I’ve grown to love infield. I can catch a popfly. I mean, I can catch a popfly. My old coach asked my friend if she’d been feeding me nails for breakfast because I’m so aggressive out there. Yet, despite my aggressiveness and my technique, I’m not good enough. One girl has an awful technique but is cute. The coach even has a nickname for her. She got to play for the full game and I was taken out after the third inning (at least I wasn’t a sub this time). And my friend, who’s been playing softball for years was playing as a sub in the second string. What’s wrong with this picture?

Well, actually. I am a favorite now. Not by my father, not by my teachers, and definitely not by my coaches. I’m someone’s “freshman.” Not like the whole “get me stuff” relationship, but more of a “you’re cool, let’s hang” type of thing. It’s pretty cool.

Plus, she can beat up the junior who made me do all her work at practice yesterday and then hit me. *sighs*

Today at school there was a huge fight. When I say huge, I mean one girl was arrested. So there were three girls. One girl is rumored to be pregnant. She was punched in the stomach and had scratches all over her face. She was unrecognizable. A lot of girls do not like her, she has the reputation of a slut. Everyone was cheering the other girls on, that’s not fair. Mob mentality.

So the girl who punched the rumored to be pregnant girl in the stomach was arrested (I cheer on the inside)

I think that this could be interpreted as a metaphor for adoption. Some agencies are just so brutal with trying to get babies. They’re methods are blinding, and like this the effects of the punches may not be felt right away but they soon will come. And, if this is a metaphor for adoption, then it is a hopeful one. Hope is something that just shines light on the dark spots and makes them better because forgetting is worse than the pain of remembering.

I’ve gotten comfortable in my own skin, heck I’m comfortable enough to talk to people which is a step up from a few weeks ago. I’m pretty sure it was my adoption issues/bullying issues that prevented me from opening my mouth. Actually, it was my bullying issues but my adoption issues exacerbated their effects. I was afraid people would hurt me and then leave me: all truth lost in the separation. That bugged me.

Seeing the fight today reminded me how things are so much better. Last year a few girls threatened to kill me on numerous occasions. It was very scary for me to hear those things, the words just scarred. I would hide in my bedroom under the covers with my doors and windows locked. People were cheering those girls on when I got hurt last year. I know what it’s like.

I’m not their victim, I survived. Like many others, I’ve gotten through this. I’m climbing a new mountain, right now is a new search for truth.

We all know the girl who wears an oversized t-shirt to the beach or the pool. The girl who never takes it off because she doesn’t like the way her body is. We all know the girl who wears twenty hair ties on her arms to cover her struggles. The girl who never knew how to ask for help because she didn’t know how to ask for it.

And we all know the girl who has gone 11 days without doing the horrid act.

And the girl who doesn’t lie when she smiles anymore.

And the girl who is beginning to question the use of the oversized t-shirt.

And the girl who holds her head high and doesn’t look back on her former life: a life of repeated peer abuse.

We all know the girl who doesn’t wear make-up because she believes that it is a lie: covering your faults as if to erase them.

So after a slew of depressing songs and a waste of an entire day perusing my snaps of various happy memories, I have stopped feeling awful.

I didn’t ask to be adopted, frankly I wish I would’ve been aborted. My day would’ve been a whole lot easier if I didn’t see the softball photographer’s face today. She looked just like my mom. I broke down in the dugout. Then of course all the annoying girls are like, “What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” SHUT UP! I DON’T WANT YOUR EFFING HELP!!!

And at softball one girl pelted me in the face with like 3 softballs. They aren’t soft fyi.

OH! And so Friday this some girls were playing in the outfield with me (they were texting) and completely ignoring what was going on. So I was running the ENTIRE effing outfield. That’s a lot. A LOT. One girl gave the coach attitude about being in the outfield and how she wanted to play infield. So my coach tells her “Attitude won’t get you anywhere, you need to PROVE to me that you can play infield. You are far from there.” So today who does he put infield? Yep. And who has a bruise on her face?

So, that’s wonderful, right? Later on, I was going to bat and the first throw hit me in the ankle (hard enough for me to fall down and have tears). I hate crying in public. I hate it. My ankle is HUGE. Really big. I ended up scoring a run. Yay!

I’m just so sick of school, softball, and adoption. Invisibility, too…